


It is Perilous to Live Past the End of Your Myth

by mstwinpeaks



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Well it is now, because these two are the angstiest, i dont really know what to tag this with, i guess i'll add them as we go, i have a whole story planned for this so we shall see, is that a word?, rating will go up as the story progresses, set after season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-14 06:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14130027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mstwinpeaks/pseuds/mstwinpeaks
Summary: Maybe it was the nightmares that kept Karen up, frustrated at no leads and dead ends. She had no idea where those girls were, if they were alive, or what had been done to them. Or maybe it was the fact that it was another Saturday morning, and while she had no idea where Frank was, or what had been done to him, she had a lead on who might. Maybe it was time she paid Curtis Hoyle a visit after all.Karen, like always, has many questions, and not enough answers. And like always, she goes in search of the answers, no matter what it might cost her.Set post season 1 of The Punisher.





	1. Chapter 1

Karen was fed up. It had been two weeks since she got this assignment, and she was getting nowhere. It wasn’t as much an assignment, as it was a case she’d taken on herself, and forced Ellison to let her pursue it. In the last month, six teenage girls had gone missing, without a trace. They were all from low-income families, rough neighborhoods, spent more time working minimum wage jobs than they did at school, if they hadn’t dropped out already. They were there one day and gone the next. The police had no leads, Karen had leaned on Bret hard for something, a single clue, something tangible that could point her in the right direction, but there was nothing. She wanted to scream. Ellison wanted her to drop it, to cover something with actual evidence. He kept asking her, how could she be sure that they didn’t just run away? Karen knew it was more than that. When you ran away, you didn’t leave all your things behind. You left some sort of trace in your wake, empty drawers, drained bank accounts, maybe even a note. Or, if you’re lucky, someone who cares enough to notice you’re gone.

Someone had taken these girls, and they didn’t want them to be found. That wasn’t something Karen could just let go. That’s what lead to her sitting at her kitchen table, laptop screen glaring at her, at three in the morning. She’d woken up a few hours ago, confused and frightened from a blurry nightmare. All she could remember was the feeling of being pulled—no—dragged. And screaming; so much screaming she felt like her ears were ringing when she’d awoken.

With a sigh, she closed her laptop. It was no use. She wasn’t going to make any progress in the middle of the night, especially with no new leads. She looked to her windowsill, where the potted flowers Frank had given her still sat. She’d put them there ever since she’d seen Billy Russo on the news, being declared as wanted by the police, armed and dangerous. She knew Frank wouldn’t come, at least not immediately. Still, she put them there because she hoped that someday he would.

It had been three months since then and she hadn’t heard from Frank. She didn’t think he was dead, no, _he couldn’t be._ She’d done enough research of her own to reasonably assume he was still alive. She knew things that most of the public didn’t, such as a shoot-out at the Central Park merry-go-round not longer after Russo was publicly declared a threat, with enough blood to know more than one person had been hurt, and that an unidentified male now lay in hospital bed at Metro-General, heavily guarded. It hadn’t been easy to find out, she had to bribe more people than she cared to, and she couldn’t confirm all of it, but Karen had been doing this sort of thing long enough to know when to trust her gut. Something had happened between Frank and Russo at that merry-go-round, where Frank’s family had been killed. Karen didn’t know enough to put the whole puzzle together, but she knew enough to know it was bad, and that Russo had betrayed Frank. She knew through her research, and her time on Frank’s case when he was on trial, that he and Russo served together. Frank had never mentioned him by name, but she knew him well enough to know that any man he’d served with would be like family to him. It was the only thing he had left that even resembled a family, and now that was gone too, except for one person.

That was the last lead she hadn’t followed up on. Curtis Hoyle, former marine and now insurance salesman, who lead a support group for veterans. The same group that Lewis Wilson had attended before he went full terrorist and started blowing people up. It was just one of the reasons she hadn’t been able to bring herself to contact him. She knew where the group meetings were held, and when, but she couldn’t just bring herself to show up and introduce herself. What would she say? “Hey, you don’t know me, but I’m Karen Page, you know the guy that who tried to blow you up? He tried to do the same to me!” Or, “you know that mutual friend we have, the one we’re supposed to pretend not to know about, whose supposed to be dead? Have you heard from him recently?”

Somehow, she thought those wouldn’t be quite as charming and funny as they sounded in her head. Being mutually pursued by a madman wasn’t the best icebreaker.

Still, every Saturday morning she felt a pang in her gut, an urgency to go down to that rec center and introduce herself anyways, awkwardness be damned. But there was more than one reason not to go. If Frank was still alive, no, he _is_ still alive, then he hadn’t reached out to her for a reason. She didn’t want to let herself ponder why. Was it him who lay in that hospital bed? If it wasn’t, what had happened to him?

The last time she’d seen him, in that elevator, it haunted her. Not just because of the smell of smoke and burning flesh, the blood and wounds that covered Frank, or the fact that there were hundreds of police officers waiting outside, ready to kill him. It was the desperate way he looked at her, the air heavy with everything they’d never said to each other, the gentle way their foreheads met amidst the chaos, the way his voice sounded when he’d told her to take care. That’s what haunted her the most. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew it meant something. A big something she didn’t have the strength or energy to think about.

Maybe it was the nightmares that kept her up, frustrated at no leads and dead ends. She had no idea where those girls were, if they were alive, or what had been done to them. Or maybe it was the fact that it was another Saturday morning, and while she had no idea where Frank was, or what had been done to him, she had a lead on who might.

Maybe it was time she paid Curtis Hoyle a visit after all.

-

The alarm clock on the bedside table was unforgiving. The minutes passed by, bright red and urgent in the dark of his apartment, and Frank had to resist the urge to pull it out from the socket and throw it across the room. It wouldn’t make a difference. He could smash the damn thing to bits, but the minutes would still drag on. Instead, he huffed out a sigh and rolled over to face the wall. There was no window in the shitty apartment he rented, no light from the outside to cancel out the dark, all there was the red glow of the digital clock that read 3 AM. He thought about moving, getting a nicer place, he could certainly afford it with all that cash Lieberman secured for him, but he still wanted to wait a bit. This whole situation, Homeland just letting him go, switching out his prints in the system, leaving him to live a life. An after. Frank still couldn’t fully believe it was real. He wasn’t sure he could let himself.

He’d never been good at letting things go. He never learned how to, or there was never time enough to even try. He went from warzone to home, to warzone, to nothing. To no one. He’d gone from being a marine, a husband, a father, to the Punisher. In that whirlwind of blood and bullets, he didn’t have time to think about who he’d be when it was all over; to consider what kind of life he’d live. There was no point. Frank wasn’t intending on surviving, not past the end of his mission.

What does the Punisher do when there’s no one left to punish?

Sure, he could go out every night and hunt every asshole left in Hell’s Kitchen. He was itching to beat someone until his fists were bloody, but it all seemed…pointless. No matter how many people he took out, no matter how much they deserved it, there would be five more to replace them, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Frank was under no illusion, he didn’t have the capacity or the will to change who people are, he couldn’t change the fact that there will always be bad people who do bad shit. That was more of Red’s scene anyways, trying to make Hell’s Kitchen a better place was never Frank’s calling. His mission was over. Everyone who had a hand in what happened to his family, they were gone. Cold. Dead. He’d just always assumed that when it was over, he would be dead too.

Except, now here he was. Well, here Pete Castiglione was, with nothing but time to think. He’d told David once that torture wasn’t pain, it’s time that breaks us down. Frank continued to stare at the wall. There’s no relief in being right.

Eventually, he shoved himself out of bed and went to the bathroom. There was no point in trying to fall back asleep, he knew he wouldn’t be able to anyway. He flicked the light on and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was longer now, he’d let his beard grow out, to reassume the identity of Pete Castiglione. It had been three months. He’d been going to Curt’s group, and it helped, he was still new to the experience of voicing his feelings, but he didn’t hate it. It made him uncomfortable as hell, but it wasn’t all that bad. It was a little easier every time, even if he didn’t speak, it made him feel useful when he sat there and listened to the others talk. It made him feel like he was helping them, even if the small favour was just listening.

 Curt would laugh at him right now, if he saw Frank staring at his face in the mirror. _Wallowing asshole_. That’s what he’d say, and he was right. There really was no use in it, staring at himself like an asshole, so he hopped in the shower instead. It was Saturday, and he had group later in the morning. At first, his attendance was sporadic, he wasn’t fully convinced it was safe. It’s not that he didn’t trust the other group members to keep his secrets, if Curt trusted them, then he could too. No, he worried that letting them carry his secrets would do to them what it had done to everyone else- put them into the line of fire. They’d already spent enough time there, and Frank didn’t want to add to it. But weeks had gone by, and nothing happened, so he went to every meeting. After getting dressed, he spent the rest of the morning reading the latest novel Curt had recommended. He stopped borrowing them and started buying his own copies, so much so that he had a small, but respectable, collection growing. Currently, he was reading Pride and Prejudice. He wasn’t sure about it at first, but the he remembered seeing a copy of it on Karen’s bookshelf, when she’d let him in to her apartment after he surprised her on the street. Every time he picked it up, he remembered how it felt when she’d hugged him, pulling him tightly against her. Her hair smelled like lavender. She’d said it was good to see him, and he meant it when he told her the same.

-

“Some days, I don’t even feel like a real person. I mean, I’m here, going to work, making dinner, watching TV, doing what I should be doing, y’know? But it’s like I’m moving through a fog. I’m doing all these things, without even feeling like it’s me doing them.”

Katrina, the woman speaking, wasn’t even looking at the rest of the group. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she stared down at them as she spoke. Frank hummed in response. He knew the feeling.

“You’re not alone in that. And what matters is that you are here, right now, talking to us about it. Back over there, we had to fight to survive. Now that were home, it can be difficult to return to actually living.” Curtis replied, staring intently. He glanced up to the clock that hung on the wall. “I think that’s a good place to end it for today, if no one else has anything they want to talk about.”

There wasn’t. As everyone started to leave, Frank hung back. He liked to stay and help Curt clean up, sometimes they’d grab a bite to eat after too. He started putting chairs away as people shuffled out. Curt talked a bit more with Katrina, who’d been lingering after group ended for the last few weeks, chatting with Curtis. Frank watched out of them out of the corner of his eye. Curtis stood close to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. She gave him a quick hug in response and murmured something to him before she left. Curtis watched her as she walked away.

“So, you ever gonna ask her out or what?” Frank asked as soon as Katrina was out of earshot.

“It’s not the right time Frank. She’s going through it right now.”  Curtis replied, coming over to help Frank with the chairs. _Classic Curtis_ , Frank thought, _respectful as ever_. He shrugged.

“We all are. Aren’t we supposed to start living our lives again, stop putting things on hold? Isn’t that what this whole thing is about?”

“Y’know, I’m starting to regret inviting you, Frank.” Curtis said with a smile. Frank chuckled and patted his friend on the back.

“If anyone can help her through it, it’s you. Doesn’t have to be a fancy date or nothin’. Just grab a coffee with her, one on one.”

“Is Frank Castle really giving me dating advice right now?”

Frank laughed again, shaking his head.

“Look, I ain’t gonna pretend I know exactly what I’m talkin’ about, but she clearly likes you man. Think about it.”

“Okay, I’ll do that Frank.” Curtis replied, nodding.

-

Karen watched as men and women filtered out of the rec center. She’d been standing in the parking lot for ten minutes, waiting for the group to finish. She figured it would be best to make her presence known after, rather than before their meeting. She wasn’t sure about how any of this would go over, and she didn’t want to intrude. It really wasn’t her place.

She made her way into the building, hands anxiously smoothing out her white blouse, trying to convince herself this was still a good idea. It wasn’t strictly a bad idea, she reasoned. She also wondered, what would she do if Curtis didn’t know anything? Would he even trust her? Could she handle it if he had nothing to say, even if he did decide to be honest?

Would she be able to deal with the fact that her last lead on finding Frank might just be another dead end?

No matter how it turned out, she had to know. She took a deep breath, and pushed forward.

She could hear male voices as she walked down the hall, talking in low tones. She felt another pang of anxiety as she approached, but shook it off. She was here dammit, and she was doing this.

She saw him then, Curtis, heading for the doorway as his head was turned, speaking to someone else in the room. He stopped when he saw her.

“Hi, uh, sorry if I’m interrupting, I don’t want to intrude, I’m-”

“Karen Page.” He finished for her, a small, albeit shocked, smile appearing on his face.

Oh. She wasn’t expecting that.

“Um, yeah. Glad to hear you know who I am, at least.” She replied, offering a small smile back, surprised. “Look, if you’re in the middle of something I can go, I just wanted to-”

She broke off mid sentence, eyes widening as a figure appeared behind Curtis. He looked like he did when she saw him all those months ago, wearing a blanket and that damn beard, waiting for her on the street.

“Frank.”

It was all she could say.

“Karen.”

His voice was low and gruff, the way she remembered it. He looked good. No, he looked better than good. Karen couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him without bruises or blood. He did look a little tired, but not worse for the wear. He was wearing a black Henley that fill him well, they always did, with black jeans and his black coat.

They stood like that for a few moments, just staring at each other, unable to say anything. Curtis looked back and forth between them with an interested look. He turned to Frank.

“See you next week, Frank. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” He turned back to Karen and smiled at her. “It was nice to finally meet you Karen, I read your articles all the time. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again some time.”

Dumbstruck, Karen looked at him and nodded. Curtis gave Frank a nod and left.

Karen didn’t know what to do. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She’d come only to see if Curtis could tell if her Frank was alive, or if there was any way she could pass a message onto him. The last thing she was expecting to find him here, standing a foot away from her.

She didn’t think. She just launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him. He smelled fresh, like clean laundry, not of smoke, or gun powder. He hesitated at first, taken aback, but then he slid his arms around the small of her back, his head nestling against her neck. She squeezed him tighter. He was safe. Alive. She could feel his heart pounding against her, echoing her own.

She finally, reluctantly, pulled away and looked at him.

“You’re alive.”

“I am.”

“I- I wasn’t sure what had happened to you after, well after the last time I saw you.”

Frank looked down at his feet, a guilty expression oh his face. He shrugged.

“A lot happened. I don’t really know where to start.” He replied.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to piece it together, actually. That’s what lead me here. Curtis, I mean. I knew he ran a group here, that you guys served together…and I wanted to see if he could tell me anything, if you were ok…” Karen trailed off. After all this time looking for him, and hoping to see him again, she never even thought about what she would say. She never let herself get that far. He didn’t say anything after that. He looked up at her with an expression she couldn’t place.

Did he even want to see her? He’s been alive, in Hell’s Kitchen, for months. And he never even sent as much as a text. Karen felt a small fire burn in her belly. If she hadn’t found him, if she hadn’t been looking, would he ever of even tried to contact her? Her mind was racing, her heart was climbing up into her throat.

“Well, it was good to see you Frank. Good to know you’re alive.” She finally said. She couldn’t help the bit of venom that slipped into her tone. She turned to go before she could measure his reaction.

“Karen, wait.” Frank grabbed her arm, and it froze her in place. She turned on him, eyes burning traitorously with tears, but met his gaze.

“I- shit. Look, I’m sorry. I should have called.” Frank saw the tears in her eyes, and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. How many times had he thought of those blue eyes over the last few months, but never picked up the phone?

He sighed.

“I am sorry, Karen.” He said, hoping his eyes conveyed his sincerity.

She chewed on her bottom lip and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I was afraid you were dead, Frank.” Her voice came out smaller than she wanted to, but now that she knew it wasn’t true, she could finally let herself say it.

Then Frank did something she wasn’t expecting. He gently pulled her against his chest, his arms coming around her, holding her. She let him.

“But I’m not.”

He said it so quietly, that if her head wasn’t against his shoulder, she wouldn’t have heard it. It took everything she had not to break down right there, and sob into his chest until every last bit of fear and desperation she’d been carrying inside of her since that day in the elevator was gone.

Instead, she resolved that she’d never let herself lose him again.

“Would you want to come over for some coffee, maybe something to eat?” She asked, pulling away to look at him.

He looked surprised for a moment, but his face relaxed into a smile.

“I’d like that, Karen.”

As they walked outside, Karen smiled and thought to herself, _not all leads have dead ends, then._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen and Frank reconnect. Karen continues to look for answers.

Home is where the heart is. It’s cliché, he knew it, but that was always what Karen Page was to him. All heart.

It was almost exactly as he remembered it. As Karen was in the kitchen putting a pot of coffee on, Frank looked around the living room and felt some tension release from his body. It was so _Karen_. Mostly tidy, well put together, but the longer you looked, the more you saw the small bits of chaos. Her bookshelf was organized by author, the throw blanket was perfectly folded and placed over the arm of the sofa, but on the coffee table there were file folders with pages slipping out, various notepads with sticky notes jutting out the sides, an empty coffee mug, a plate with crumbs. It was a stark contrast from his apartment, which was devoid of color, of warmth, of personality. It wasn’t a _home_ , it was just a place he lived for the time being. It was nothing like Karen’s apartment, which was so full of life.

“You take it black, right?” Came Karen’s voice, breaking Frank out of his thoughts. She offered him a coffee mug that had Van Gogh’s Starry Night on it, hot and steaming.

“Yeah, thank you.”

She had her own mug in her other hand, except hers depicted the Mona Lisa. She caught his gaze and smiled.

“It’s a set, Foggy gave them to me last Christmas. Rembrandt and Monet are in the cupboard. Do you want anything to eat? I could make something, or I have left over Chinese in the fridge…”

“No, I’m ok.”

Karen nodded in response and sat down on her sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. She was wearing blue jeans, the pale blue color only a few shades lighter than her eyes. It was the most casual he’d ever seen her. He realized it might have been the first time he’d seen her in anything than business-professional attire. She was still wearing a blouse, but it was loose and untucked. It reminded him how different this was, them being there in her apartment. They were just two people having coffee together on a Saturday morning, like friends do, instead of being brought together by violence and danger.

“Sit, Frank, please. You’re making me nervous just standing there staring at me.”

He didn’t even realize that’s what he’d been doing and felt a little embarrassed. It really had been too long since he’d seen her. He murmured an apology and sat down on the couch next to her, leaving some space between them. There was a pregnant pause before Karen spoke.

“What happened, Frank?” Her voice was gentle, but her blue eyes were pleading. _Tell me. Please._

“Don’t even know where to start.” He replied.

It was the truth. He wanted to tell her, he knew he owed her that much, but it had been too much for too long. The words for it were lost on him. He’d done it before, spelling it all out for Homeland on tape, but that was in a boardroom, with Madani staring him down. This was different. This was Karen, who’d started the whole damn thing, breaking into his house, then shoving a picture of his family in his face. It sounded spiteful in his head, like he blamed her for it, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was grateful for everything she’d done. Her was grateful for _her_. The Punisher didn’t get to feel grateful for much.

“How about we start with the last time I saw you…until now.” Karen suggested. He nodded, and tried to remember all the days following.

Eventually, Frank told her everything. He started with ziplining out of that hotel. She laughed at that, smirking, saying _of course you would_ , but she lost any sense of humor as he went on. It came out in a mess. He found himself jumping around through time as he told her about Kandahar, Cerberus, the Lieberman’s, (he left out the part when Sarah Lieberman kissed him, because it wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things, she didn’t need to know about that, that’s what he told himself), how he became involved with Madani, Agent Orange, Russo...he stared at the wall beyond her when he told her about the merry-go-round. Billy’s betrayal. His shattered face. He couldn’t bear to look at her, he knew she was crying, crying for him, his family, all the blood shed, and lives lost. That’s who Karen Page was, the woman with the heart so large that she carried the whole world’s pain within it. If he watched her, if he looked her in the eyes as he spoke, he would see it all, everything that ever broke her heart, and know he was responsible for too much of it.

He grew quiet then, and she let him have his silence. She wanted to reach out, to hold him, touch him, just to remind herself that he was truly there, but it was a fragile moment. _They_ were fragile. She was terrified that it would all be too much for him, and he’d run, disappear on her all over again. So, she sat there, body aching from the stillness, and watched him breathe.

His gaze remained unfocused, eyes slightly glazed, that thousand yard stare she’d seen him do so many times. Then Karen noticed his eyes focus suddenly, zeroing in on something. Karen turned her head to see what had caught his gaze, and her heart clenched in her chest.

“Oh…” It was the pot of flowers. The original white roses had long since died, but Karen replaced them every time they withered.

“How long?” Frank asked, his dark eyes darting back to look at her.

There was something in his voice that broke her heart and she could have sworn she saw him flinch, as if he knew.

“What?”

“How long have they been there?” He repeated, the gravel in his voice thick with guilt.

“Ever since I saw Billy Russo on the news, being declared armed and dangerous. I knew…I knew something was wrong. I knew you were deep into something and I knew you wouldn’t be able to come, that you wouldn’t risk it but I just thought…well I thought if you saw them then you’d know I was still here, on your side, if you needed anything.” She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. She left out the part about how she left them there, day after day, praying he’d come anyways, no matter what hell followed him.

He was quiet again, but he was looking at her now. The look on his face, it was so goddamn tormented, and it _wrecked_ her. His eyes, sometimes they were so dark they looked black, they were fathomless, unending depths filled with so. Much. Pain. She suddenly and desperately felt the urge to kiss him. She’d swallow his pain if she could, if he’d ever let her, but she swallowed her own feelings instead, and they sat in her stomach like a rock.

It was heaven and hell, having Frank back.

“I wanted to, Karen. I wanted t’reach out, call you, do somethin’. But I just couldn’t risk it. I waited for weeks for someone to come for me. Homeland, Rollins or Russo’s men, I waited for the other shoe to drop. Always has and always will. Shit, Curt practically had to drag me to group. The more people I talk to, the more likely I’ll seem ‘em die. You know that. You’ve seen it. I couldn’t let that happen, not to you.”

She bit at her lip. She remembered the last time he’d said something like that to her, except now he wasn’t yelling at her, and he wasn’t about to disappear into the black again, at least she prayed he wouldn’t. Not again. _Not again._

“And now?”

“Now I’m startin’ to think…I’m startin’ to consider no one’s comin’ this time. Don’t mean there ain’t scumbags left in this city that want to see my head on a stick, but the ones who took my family are gone.”

Before, Karen had thought Frank’s very final way of dealing with criminals was…excessive, Matt had certainly imposed that fact on anyone who would listen, him and that goddamn code of his, but now, she was glad they were dead. Maybe she always was, maybe she just wasn’t _made_ to feel guilty about it anymore.

“I’m sorry Frank. For all of it.” She reached out and put her hand over his, stilling his twitching trigger finger, and squeezed.

“Not your fault,” came his gruff reply.

“I know, I’m just sorry.”

He nodded. Of course she was sorry. Her and that damn heart.

“Big case your workin’ on?” He asked, gently pulling his hand out from hers to grab a one of the many files on the coffee table. Karen huffed out a sigh.

“Trying to, at least. There hasn’t been much to go on recently. It’s bothering me so much, I think my hair is starting to fall out.” She was only half kidding.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. Six teenage girls have disappeared into thin air in the last month and no one seems to know a damn thing about it. Not their families, their friends, especially the police. Add me to that list, too. Ellison wants me to drop it. But I can’t. For there to be no evidence, not a thing out of place, it’s too clean. Someone, or some people, are taking these girls, and they’re good at it. It screams foul play, but it seems like I’m the only one who wants to hear it.” Karen ran a hand through her hair, exasperated. She was getting worked up just talking about it.

Frank picked up some of the folders and looked through them. Jesus, some of the girls were as young as 14. No fingerprints, no hair, not a single piece of DNA evidence out of the ordinary. He knew what it took to make someone vanish. Memories of Kandahar swirled in his head. _They call us the American Taliban. We go in, the middle of the night, people disappear._

“This is dangerous, Karen.”

He didn’t like it.

She figured he wouldn’t, especially after everything he’d just told her.

“I know. But does that mean I should just let it go? I’m the last person who gives a shit about these girls. If I stop looking, no one will ever start again. I can’t let that happen. Someone is hurting them, Frank.”

“I’m not tellin’ you to stop. I’m tellin’ you to be careful. The sort of people who do this, they’re no petty criminals.” _They’re like me. Cerberus._

“I’m no petty detective, either.” She remembered him bruised, chained down to a hospital bed. He remembers her, Murdock pulling her away, those blue eyes burning. _Someone is lying about what happened to your family, Mr. Castle._

“That’s why I’m worried, Karen.”

“I’m being careful. Always am. Besides, there’s not much to be careful about. I have nothing.”

Frank looked at her and saw the defeated expression on her face. He didn’t like that. He knew she wasn’t going to just give it up, and he knew that she’d keep digging even if it broke her bones. And those girls. God knows. He couldn’t just let it happen, either.

He sighed, already regretting what he was about to say.

“What if I told you I knew someone who might be able to help?”

Karen let a sly smile cross her face.

“Is this where I finally get to meet the infamous David Lieberman?”

Frank smirked back at her. He’d been more than a bit colorful in describing David, and he noticed the way she perked up when he mentioned his ability with computers. He also had a feeling that she and David would get along _too_ well. Introducing them would be opening a can of worms. It would be two worlds colliding, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet.

“I could mention it to him. See if he can dig anything up.”

“So I don’t get to meet him. That doesn’t seem fair. I found him, after all.” She was teasing him, but she also had a point.

“Let’s just see if he can find anything, first.”

“I’d be really grateful for it, Frank.”

“One condition. Whatever he finds, wherever this case takes you- I’m comin’ with.”

“Frank-”

“It’s not optional. Either I’m in this too, or it stops.”

The look in his eyes, burning into hers, firm but not frightening, telling, not asking. He was serious. There was no room for argument.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

-

  
Karen refilled their coffee cups and settled back down on the couch. She told him more about the past few months, how things at the paper had been going for her, and the more she spoke, the more she seemed to gravitate towards him. Did she sit back down closer after getting up? She didn’t know. By the time she’d finished talking, she was mere inches away from him.

Every time she was close to him, it felt like time slowed down. The world outside of them disappeared, if only for a few seconds, only as long as they let it. No one else had ever had that affect on her. Not even Matt. But she couldn’t let herself think of that, not right then. He’d come up eventually, but not when Frank was sitting on her sofa, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him.

“So, now that you’re a free man, what do you do?” She asked, cutting off her one track mind.

“I work construction a few days a week. Keep to myself, mostly. I read a lot.”

“Oh? Anything I would have read?”

“I’m actually reading Pride and Prejudice, right now. Makin’ my way through the classics.”

Karen’s face lit up, a wide grin spreading across her face, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Frank, that’s one of my favourite books of all time! What do you think of it?”

“I’m only ‘bout half way through, but it’s good.”

“It’s good? That’s all? It’s one of the best novels of all time!” Karen exclaimed. He couldn’t help but smile back at her, her excitement was contagious.

“Guess I should be payin’ more attention then, shouldn’t I?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Except he always had her in mind, every time he picked it up. He took in every word as he read it, as if she had written them herself. He could still see it on her bookshelf from where he sat. Of course he was paying attention.

“Well, you’ll have to keep me updated as you read it.” There was a subtle shift in her tone, a hint of hopefulness, a slight inflection that made it sound more like a question than a statement. He knew what she was asking.

“I’ll do that.” _We’ll see each other again._

“Good.” _You’re damn right we will._

He left not long after, but not before assuring her that he’d call her again, and soon.

* * *

  
It had only been a few days since she’d seen Frank, but Karen couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed through her when “Pete” flashed across her phone screen.

“Fra- Pete. Hey.” She was alone in her office, and the door was shut, but she was still nervous someone would overhear. The nature of her relationship with Frank Castle was popular gossip amongst her co-workers, one she had refused to entertain, but that seemed only to fuel their curiosity. It had died down in the last few months, but she didn’t want to risk even the slightest chance that they’d overhear. Still, calling him Pete felt wrong.

“Karen. You free at all today? I got an update for you,” came Frank’s voice in her ear.

She bit her lip. He’d texted her a few hours after he left her place (from some reason the image of Frank texting amused her greatly. Did he know about emojis?) that David had agreed to help in her investigation, but she refused to get her hopes up. She’d done that enough, she was no rookie now.

“Yeah, yeah. I could meet you somewhere for lunch?”

“Sounds good. Say 12:30? I know a place. I’ll text you the address.”

-

  
The diner was a quaint little place, and quiet, which was hard to find these days in Hell’s Kitchen. Leave it to Frank to know all the best nooks and crannies the neighborhood had to offer.

He’d spotted her the moment she’d approached the diner through the window, it wasn’t hard to spot her with those long legs and canary blonde hair. It only took a cursory glance for her to spot him when she walked in. He was in the corner booth, leaning back against the red vinyl cushion, giving him a full view of the diner. He’d been to this place many times in the last few months, he knew all the familiar faces, but a man could never be too careful. Old habits die hard.

He already had his own cup of coffee, and a kindly waitress appeared not long after Karen sat down across from him, filling her mug.

“Come here often?” Karen asked, stirring two sugars into her coffee.

“Often enough. Grab lunch with Curt here sometimes after group.”

Karen nodded, taking the place in. It seemed to have avoided the gentrification that was so prevalent in Hells Kitchen and maintained the mom and pop feel. She noticed their waitress watching them and gave her a warm smile. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, her blond hair was laced with whites and greys, and Karen imagined that’s what her mother would have looked like at that age. She caught Karen’s smile and sent her a wink. Her heart ached, only a little.

“It’s a nice place. Coffee’s not bad, either.” She said, returning her mind to Frank. He had been watching her with interest.

“Another reason I keep comin’ back. Always hot and fresh. Good service too. Linda’s a good lady.” He said, nodding to her with a smile.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Karen looked over the menu. Frank recommended the club sandwich, and they both ordered it when Linda returned.

“So, you said you have news for me?” Karen asked when they were alone again.

“Yeah. David was able to find somethin’. The girls cellphones- he managed to get into them. Four of them had calls from the same number.”

“Why weren’t the cops able to find that? I’m sure they went through the phones.”

“Somethin’ about them being deleted, but he could resurface them, retrieve the deleted files somehow.” He said, vaguely shrugging. “Cops must’ve not looked that hard.”

“Shocking. Was David able to find out who the number belonged to?”

“Yeah, a payphone in Brooklyn, not far from Coney Island. But the street cameras have been down on that block for a month or two now. That’s all he could find.”

“It’s a lot more than I could have found. This is great Frank, thank you.”

“It ain’t much, but I have the address.”

“It’s something. That’s all I need, really Frank. Please tell him how grateful I am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Karen smiled. It had been a long time since he called her that, but it had lost the sense of formality. It felt more like a nickname now. They dropped it after agreeing they’d check it out together after they finished lunch. Karen was ravenous, she’d forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, something she often did. It wasn’t on purpose, she was just always rushing to get to work that it would slip her mind. Besides, Frank was right, the club sandwich was good.

“Jesus, Karen. No one’s gonna take it from ya.” She looked away from her sandwich to Frank, who had a shit eating grin on his face.

“What? I’m hungry!” Karen scoffed, pretending to be offended.

“Yeah, I can see that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman maul a sandwich like that.”

“Believe it or not Frank, women get hungry too.”

He chuckled, shaking his head at her. She giggled, just a little.

After finishing their food and getting cups of coffee to go, Frank paid the bill (he insisted on paying), leaving a nice fat tip for Linda.

Karen followed Frank to his car, an old black pick-up truck, it had a dent or two, but it had charm. It suited him.

Springsteen serenaded their drive to Brooklyn, she sipped on her coffee as he sang from the radio, _everything dies, baby that’s a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back._

Frank parked the car a block away, after driving through and casing the area as much as he could.

“You still got that hand-cannon?”

“At this point, do you really need to ask?” She replied, patting her purse.

“Atta girl.”

Karen felt an involuntary spark in her belly when he said that. She pushed it away. She could think about whatever it was later.

He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out his own gun, tucking it securely against his waist by his hip.

“Ready?”

“For what, a payphone? You know it.” She was kidding, but caught Frank’s cautioning glance at her and shot her own serious look back. She nodded, acknowledging the potential danger.

As she expected, there was a whole lot of nothing. Frank stood by her like a sentinel as she faced the payphone, eyes constantly scanning, trigger finger twitching, at the ready. The street was non-descript, if not desolate. There was a run-down looking bodega on the street corner, and if the cameras were as old as they looked, it was doubtful they’d offer any assistance. Still, it might be worth a try. As far as the payphone, it was in working order, but there wasn’t much to discern from it. There was the typical phone book sitting on the shelf underneath it, looking quite worn and torn, but Karen was going to take it anyways. She’d look through it later. There was some graffiti, but if it was significant, she didn’t recognize it. Pulling out her phone, she snapped a few pictures of the payphone and all its surrounding detritus.

“Come on Frank, there’s nothing else here to see. Let’s go check out that store and then we can go.”

Frank nodded, and diligently followed her over to the small shop. As she predicted, the cameras were only for show. She asked the shopkeeper if they’d noticed anyone in particular using the payphone, but she got the same blank response. Nothing.

It wasn’t exactly a dead end, she had the phonebook to go through and graffiti to research, which was something. Something is better than nothing. That’s what Karen kept saying to herself in her head, over and over again. Frank told her that he’d ask Lieberman to keep digging. She sent the photos she took to Frank so he could pass them off to David as well, to see if his computer savvy skills could find anything with them.

He drove her back to work, stopping a few blocks away to be safe.

“Thanks again Frank, for everything.” She said to him before getting out of the car. Despite feeling slightly defeated, she meant it.

“Chin up, Karen. We’ll find them.”

 _We’ll find them. We._ That was all she needed to hear.

* * *

  
Two days later, Karen was walking down the hall towards her apartment, utterly exhausted from a long day at work. Ellison had put her on a white-collar embezzlement scandal while she investigated her case, and it had been total chaos. She hadn’t even been able to look through the phonebook yet.  
  


She was dead on her feet, barely even aware of her movements, to the point where she nearly tripped over something when she got to her door. There was a package on the floor, neatly wrapped in brown paper, with her name written on it. She picked it up and unlocked the door. She stepped out of her heals, wincing as her sore, bare feet padded over to the kitchen, leaving the package on the island. She poured herself a glass of wine, and took a long, delicious sip. She’d been thinking about it all day. She was ready for a hot bath and at least eight hours of sleep.

She turned over to the island, to look at her package. Sometimes Foggy sent her things, to show that he was still thinking about her. They’d both been incredibly busy in the last few months with their respective careers, and it served as a good excuse, so they could avoid the sad, painful topic of Matt. The handwriting was neat, one she didn’t recognize. There was no return address. Curious, she tore the paper off. Beneath it, there was a lovely white box, clearly expensive, with gold trim around the edges.

She removed the lid, and dropped her wine glass on the floor. It shattered around her, wine splashing across her feet. She didn’t even notice. The color drained from her face, bile burned in the back of her throat.

Inside the box, seated amongst a cushioning of white satin lining, was a severed hand. The nails were chipped with pink nail polish, it had clearly belonged to a female- a girl.

But what chilled Karen even more, was that carefully laid across the palm, sitting delicately, was a white rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments on the first chapter, and to all those who subscribed. I'm sorry this took so long, life (predictably) got in the way. I managed to get really sick, right at the beginnings of finals. Y'know, life uh, finds a way. Anyways that's my lame Jeff Goldblum reference. Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Things are gonna get intense! Let me know what you guys think, kudos and comments are always appreciated. Big love y'all
> 
> PS- The Springsteen song is Atlantic City. I can't listen to him and not think of Frank Castle now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at Kastle (and also my first attempt at writing in a long, long, time). This had been rolling around my head for a few months but I've finally started writing it. I kept writing and re-writing the end of this chapter, so eventually I just settled with what I had so I could finally upload the damn thing. I'm sort of new to this, so I hope y'all like it. Let me know what you think! I've already started writing the next few chapters, and I'm hoping to update regularly, as long as life doesn't get in the way. Kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated <3
> 
> oh and the title is an Anne Carson quote that inspired this fic!


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